
Story telling is about creating connections.
As story tellers, our job is to first connect ourselves to the story, writing authentically from some truth in us. Our second job then becomes to connect readers to the story and characters in a meaningful way.
One of the most effective ways to grab hold of someone’s heart and make them care about your characters and their plight, is through the strategic use of Point Of View (POV). Whatever you think of best-selling author Ted Dekker, I’m sure we can agree on one thing; his adept use of POV is what drives those stories deep into a reader’s heart, and leaves them wondering about those characters long after closing the book.
For most of my adult life, I read and wrote primarily non-fiction. Back in the day, when I did read a lot of fiction, what I ended up finding were usually stories told from a single Point of View (the omniscient narrator, for example), or telling the story from one character’s perspective.
Then I read The Circle Series by Ted Dekker, the story being told from multiple perspectives, and I instantly fell in love with his engaging style – and the characters. I would find myself daydreaming about the characters he had created even long after I’d finished the books. That was delightfully new!
As an empath who loves to explore and understand the inner workings of emotions and psyche, it intrigues me greatly to understand my characters enough to be able to tell the story credibly from each of their perspectives.
Even the bad guys.
The Power of Point of View (POV) in Writing
Writing with depth and authenticity from the perspective of multiple characters is a skill not everyone has. Yet Dekker has an uncanny ability to look into the mind of a woman, an angel, or even a demon-possessed psychopath, and not only hold that gaze, which on its own takes nerves and faith of steel, but then he can also express life through their eyes in a credible and even sympathetic way.
This unflinching ability to see and express the perspective from multiple angles is one that requires a severe honesty and compassion few possess. It requires a willingness to look deeply, even into darkness, just for the chance to find or sow a useful seed. And that, my friend, is a frightening task.
The Risk
The scariest thing about peeking over the edge into the dark recesses of the human experience is that we will be affected. Deeply. Darkly. Maybe even changed forever.
The fact is, we will be changed by what we see and experience and take into our minds.
We cannot help but be affected - especially if we’re going in with the desire to explore, to search out truth, and then communicate that from an authentic, empathetic posture.
In one interview, Ted Dekker was asked how he can go on writing dark stories about murderers and kidnappers and demon possession without having it affect him. His response was, “I can’t.” He then described how he gives himself rest after a particularly dark and difficult story by writing a lighter one.
I’ve likewise delved into research on serial killers, murderers, and the twisted mind games of narcissistic abusers to better understand the antagonist in my thriller, Disowned. What would motivate a man to zip-tie a child to a chair, imprison her for years, and believe he was doing this for her own good? I needed to understand, especially if I wanted the reader to sympathize with him, even as he prepared a tub of gasoline for his next victim.
Absorbing all that research and exploring the dark underbelly of the human condition had its price. It affected my emotions. I’d often close the laptop after reading an article or watching a documentary and feel spent. Drained. Like my hope in humanity had been wrung out.
During the writing process, I’d take mini-breaks, days here and there where I wouldn’t think of it, and would intentionally take in positive, uplifting information instead. Read the Bible. Watch a comedy. Hang out with a friend. Touching base with the good and hopeful side of reality again was essential. Then, adequately refuelled, I’d return to the dark side of research. Once the story was over, so was my research. (Phewf.)
This is what turns us inside out about writing. The journey into the human mind and heart is a treacherous one. People have gotten lost on the journey. You’ve seen it - writers whose stories you loved suddenly morphed into this strange creature who had a weird new ideology that filtered through their stories. Somewhere they took a sharp left off the narrow road and left you wondering what happened.
This is the risk.
The ones that survive the treacherous road are, I think, a lot like the traveller in Pilgrim’s Progress. Distracted and confused at times perhaps, but always grounded by one central focus on the Ultimate Truth, which protects him from remaining deceived or held up in his travels for too long.
Traveler beware: the road is risky, and ripe for ruin.
Go in grounded by an unwavering faith in the one true God, and the good sense to nurse your psyche back to health when it’s wounded or weary, and you have a good chance of making it safely to the other side.
The Reward
All that risk is worth it though, when the story it yields is one that delivers strong connection and ripples outward in transformation. When the story captures a person’s heart and won’t let go, when it changes what people see or how they see, we’ve accomplished what we set out to do. We’ve changed the world.
Stories do that.
I can think of a number of stories that have literally changed my life. Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts transformed my thinking and the way I experience life, faith, and suffering. A decade later, I’m still saved regularly by the gratitude practice she imparted to me.
Ted Dekker’s The Circle Series transformed my writing, heightening the suspense of my debut thriller Disowned and challenging me to visit those dark depths to develop the bad guy such that it changed the way I see my own real-life bad guys.
Stephen King, Beth Moore, Laura Story, Jeff Goins, Tim Grahl… there are so many authors whose stories, fiction and non, have changed. my. life.
This is why we write.
This is what makes those treacherous travels into truth so worthwhile.
The Secret
At the core, the secret to writing powerful POV is the storyteller’s courage to be honest.
This is more difficult and frightening than it sounds, because it requires looking into all those dark places of yourself.
Researching narcissistic abusers and psychopathic captors is maybe a bit dark, but it’s comfortably arms-length. It’s “their” problem, not “ours”. Peering into the darkness is not frightening until you admit some of the truths that lurk in those shadows also lurk in you. Then things start to get real. When the darkness becomes a mirror, and its reflection gives rise to a knot in your throat, then you’re getting somewhere.
Until we can look into the darkness and see ourselves there, to a degree, I don’t think we’re being completely honest. And to face that mirror and admit what we see is scarier than the thrillers we write. Yet, only when we’re being honest can we tell a story with the kind of authenticity that has a lasting influence.
“One of the central tools of literature is using the “lie”
of a made-up story to tell a human truth.”
-Neil Gaimen
of a made-up story to tell a human truth.”
-Neil Gaimen
Being honest is scary.
When I looked into the heart of my antagonist, with his narcissistic obsessions and zip-ties and the way he grinned while he watched the body on the floor lurch under the control of the Tazer gun… I could understand why he might enjoy that.
As the girl tied to the chair looked into the eyes of her Tazered rescuer, I understood how she perceived in his eyes a feeling of home. “How anyone could feel like home, she didn’t know.” I didn't know how it worked either, but I've glimpsed 'home' in the eyes of another.
Being able to identify with our characters on a heart level – even the bad guys – is the lifeblood of writing a powerful Point of View. Call it empathy. Call it honesty. They’re both right. And both are critical to the effective, transformational power of writing POV.
When I looked into the heart of my antagonist, with his narcissistic obsessions and zip-ties and the way he grinned while he watched the body on the floor lurch under the control of the Tazer gun… I could understand why he might enjoy that.
As the girl tied to the chair looked into the eyes of her Tazered rescuer, I understood how she perceived in his eyes a feeling of home. “How anyone could feel like home, she didn’t know.” I didn't know how it worked either, but I've glimpsed 'home' in the eyes of another.
Being able to identify with our characters on a heart level – even the bad guys – is the lifeblood of writing a powerful Point of View. Call it empathy. Call it honesty. They’re both right. And both are critical to the effective, transformational power of writing POV.